


Sundown

by Jaelijn



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-08
Updated: 2015-10-08
Packaged: 2018-04-25 11:49:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4959523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaelijn/pseuds/Jaelijn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is beautiful, Jensen thought, immediately followed by, Misha should be here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sundown

_ _

_This is beautiful,_ Jensen thought, immediately followed by, _Misha should be here._ He pressed his lips together, frowning at the sunset. The fact that Misha _wasn’t_ there was his own fault. He had been stupid and insensitive, and Misha had blown up. Or rather, he had gone quiet and sad, which, in hindsight, terrified Jensen, but back then he had been so angry – and Misha had packed his things and left to check in at another hotel across town.

Jensen wondered if Misha, too, was watching the sun set, or whether his hotel room even had a view, and what Misha was thinking right now, what he was doing.

Jensen had tried to call him, not even ten minutes after Misha had left, because he didn’t want to go to bed with this issue hanging over them, he didn’t want to go to sleep angry – and really, he wasn’t all that angry anymore. He hadn’t really been _angry_ to begin with either, just… frustrated, and it was stupid, but these conventions and all the fans still stressed him out, even if he had learned to relax a little lately, and… Anyway, Jensen had found that Misha had taken all his essentials, but had left his phone sitting on the bedside table, and he hadn’t come back to collect it, which was… yeah, Jensen had messed up.

He could replay the conversation with absolute accuracy – how Jensen had wanted to spend a quiet evening before the hustle-bustle of a hard convention day, and how Misha, who usually was much quieter in private than he was on stage, had been so excited about something – some idea to do with that scavenger hunt of his, and how he had tried to get Jensen excited for it, too. But Jensen had been tired, and a little grumpy, and he just wanted to have a quiet evening, so he tried to talk Misha out of his enthusiasm for the night – only Misha had been so bouncy and smiley and just wouldn’t listen, teasing him mercilessly, and Jensen had said… Jensen had said: _You don’t need to be this stupid crazy clown for me, Mish!_

The speed with which Misha’s smile had fallen was seared into Jensen’s memory, a burning pinpoint of pain. Really, he loved it when Misha was excited, loved that smile, the way those eyes lit up, the energy Misha could bring to his projects, and he had known, immediately, that it had been the fucking wrong thing to say, and not just from Misha’s expression, either. But the words had hung in the air between them, and Jensen couldn’t take them back, couldn’t get out an apology, because Misha just hadn’t _listened_ before. And Misha had packed and left, not once looking at Jensen, or responding to anything he said.  

And now he was gone. Jensen was standing there alone, staring at the setting sun, and wishing he had gone after him. He hadn’t meant to say what he did, and he especially hadn’t meant to imply that this part of Misha, which he loved, was nothing but an annoyance, that Misha was _crazy_ – he was, a good crazy, a fresh breeze, but Jensen hadn’t meant his remark as a compliment, not at that moment – that his excitement was clownish… Whatever Misha had heard in his words that made him so sad that he had left without a word, Jensen wanted to take it all back. He _loved_ Misha, loved the quiet, introspective Misha and the loud and creative Misha, and he had messed up, and he could only hope that he would get a chance to apologize.

In the end, the sun was gone, and Misha wasn’t back, and all Jensen could do was go to bed and hope to catch him in the morning, before the convention got started. He didn’t want Misha to go on stage with this hanging over their heads. _He_ didn’t want to go on stage with this hanging over their heads, but this was his fault, so Misha came first.

He didn’t sleep well. The room was too quiet, too lonely, the bed too large and cold without Misha there. Everything was colorless without Misha there, and even though the clock on the bedside table showed him incessant numbers, ticking by slowly, all Jensen really saw when he looked that way was Misha’s phone, sitting there silent, still and untouched. Eventually, he fell into a fitful doze, only to jerk awake when the clock read 2:34. It was the sound of the keycard in the lock that had woken him, and Jensen felt Misha’s presence as soon as the other man pushed open the door. Misha was clearly trying his best to be quiet, clicking the door shut slowly behind him, and sliding his bag to the floor equally slowly.

Jensen stared at the clock, remaining still, even though his heart hammered in his chest – Misha had come back!

He listened to Misha toeing of his shoes, then shuffling around the room, until his shadow fell over the bed, blocking out the city lights from the windows in his back. Jensen was looking right at him, and he couldn’t do this any longer. “Mish?”

Misha practically jumped. “Fuck!”

Jensen pushed himself upright, choking on a chuckle. “You came back.”

“I forgot my phone,” Misha shot back, curtly, and Jensen couldn’t see his face, but he could hear it in his voice – Misha was shutting him out again, still upset, still angry. As he had every right to be.

“Mish–”

“Go to sleep.” Misha picked up his phone, but he didn’t move – just stood there, his back against the window. He had taken off his shoes. He hadn’t just come back to get his phone, Jensen knew him better than that.

“I’m sorry,” Jensen said.

“So am I, but since my personality is such a nuisance to you I won’t bother you with it any longer.” Misha’s voice still had that clipped tone, but he still wasn’t moving, clutching his phone to his chest.

“Not what I meant. Mish–” Jensen reached out and flicked on the bedside lamp, casting their room into soft light.

Misha immediately averted his gaze. “I’m not easy to get along with, Jensen. I’m not normal, and most of the time I think that’s okay. But the fact is, I’m broken, and I can’t force people to like it. I just wish you’d realized sooner.”

“Misha, you _know_ I don’t think that. Hey.” Jensen clambered out of the bed, reaching out, but Misha backed away, still averting his gaze. Jensen dropped his hands. “Fair enough. Mish, I was an ass. I shouldn’t have said what I said, and it was horribly insensitive to say something like that, especially to you, and it won’t happen again, I _promise_. I’m sorry, Misha.”

“For how long?” Misha asked, very softly.

“How long?”

“How long will you be sorry, and keep your promise? How long until you decide that I annoy you, and say something like that? Just when I trust you again?” Misha’s voice cracked on the last sentence, and he dragged a hand over his face. “I should go.”

“No!” Jensen started forward, but he respected Misha’s desire for distance, and stopped himself. “Mish, you don’t annoy me. I’m an idiot, and I was stressed, but that’s no excuse. I love you.”

Misha didn’t move, didn’t walk away, but didn’t look back, either.

“I was watching the sunset earlier. I was thinking about how much you would like it, and how much I wanted you to be there. How much I love your smile when you get excited.”

“Jensen…”

“I’m not a poet. I don’t _do_ words, and sometimes I say stupid, insensitive things. You know that, and I can’t be grateful enough that you put up with me, but I’m learning, Mish, I am, from you and the fans. I love _you_ , not just part of you. The whole _you_. Please.” Jensen wasn’t even sure what he was pleading for, just that Misha’s shoulders were shaking and he wanted it to stop.

He moved forward, and this time, Misha didn’t move away. Jensen pulled him into a hug against his chest, feeling silent sobs shaking the smaller man. “Hey… You didn’t really plan on walking out again, right?”

Misha shook his head, his free hand digging into Jensen’s arm. “I’m sorry, Jen, I… Fuck.” Misha’s voice cracked, and he clung to Jensen’s arm, his hand warm against Jensen’s skin. “I didn’t mean to cry!”

“Shhhhhh, Mish, shhh.”

“No, you _were_ insensitive, but I was… something a fan said, at the airport. It shook loose some memories, and I didn’t want to think about it, talk about, so I went a bit…”

“Overly enthusiastic?” Jensen suggested, smiling against the back of Misha’s head.

Misha huffed a shaky laugh. “Yeah. And then you said… what you said. I should have been able to tell you weren’t up to it, I should have talked to you about it in the first place, but you know me.”

“If you mean that you hide how badly things affect you by joking about them, yeah, I know.”

Misha’s thumb rubbed over his arm, his trembling subsiding, and he leant his head back against Jensen’s shoulder, peering at him. A single tear had run down his cheek, but now his eyes were dry. “I didn’t actually get a hotel room. I took a taxi across town and walked back. It took a while.”

Jensen squeezed tighter. “You shouldn’t do stuff like that.”

“I wanted to call, but I didn’t have my phone.”

“I thought you left it on purpose.”

Misha just shook his head again, bumping into Jensen’s.

“Do you want to talk? About what’s been bothering you?”

“I’d rather talk about Gishwhes.”

Jensen nodded. He hadn’t expected anything else. “You good, though?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. I had a lot of time to think.”

“Me too,” Jensen said, and pressed his lips against Misha’s neck.

Misha squirmed. “Careful, no makeup tomorrow.”

“I don’t care.”

Misha turned around, bringing his arm with the phone up to hook it around Jensen’s neck and cupping his cheek with the other hand. “Kiss me.”

Jensen smiled, leaning in slowly, giving Misha all the time in the world to back away. Misha, however, leaned right into the kiss, slowly and gently deepening it until they had to break for air. Misha leaned his forehead against Jensen’s, his hand still at the back of his neck and toying with Jensen’s hair. He was smiling again, that special private smile that he reserved for moments when he was just… happy.

Jensen was pretty damn sure the expression was echoed on his own face. “Mish?”

“Hmm?” Misha’s thumb moved slowly over the nape of Jensen’s neck.

“We should probably go to sleep, but I just wanted to say that I love you for who you are, you know that, right? I don’t want you to change.”

Misha dropped his hand, sighing. “I know.”

“What’s that word you made up? Abnormally awesome?”

“Abnosome.” Misha’s eyes sparkled.

“Yeah, that.”

“I like that.”

Jensen hummed, sliding his hand into the small of Misha’s back.

“Jen, as much as I would love to stay here…”

“Bed?”

“Please.”

Misha changed with speedy deliberation, leaving his phone on the sidetable again, and crowded up against Jensen, pressing another kiss onto his lips. “I didn’t really pay attention to the sunset.”

“Yeah?” Jensen let himself fall back onto the bed, crawling under the covers and holding them out for Misha.

“I was too busy trying to navigate. Besides, there’s skyscrapers. Not much of a view down there.”

“Do you think that’s why they gave us the top floor?” Jensen whispered, inhaling Misha’s scent, his presence spreading through him, warm and comfortable.

Misha tucked his head in the crook of Jensen’s shoulder, splaying out his hand on his chest. “Watch it with me tomorrow?”

Jensen put his own hand on top of Misha’s, leaning in so they were breathing the same air. “Of course.” He watched and listened, Misha’s breathing evening out with a smile still on his lips, and pressed a soft kiss against his forehead. “Always, Mish, I promise.”


End file.
